Rule #1

by T. A Richards Neville

  “Brooke’s boss got us the best table in VIP, and drinks vouchers,” Kimberly shouts into my ear. She’s tall enough to do that with those boots she’s wearing.

  “Then why don’t you go sit there,” I say to Kimberly. I’m looking at Brooke, though. “Your boss must be a really nice guy.”

  “He must be.” Her brown eyes twinkle under the bar lights, her tight-lipped smile stretching.

  “You look beautiful, if I haven’t said that already.” I move my hands down to her hips, sliding my fingers over the curves of her ass.

  “It’s just jeans and a T-shirt.”

  “I’m not complimenting your clothes. Although, they’re nice, too. You look beautiful.”

  Brooke pushes her hands up my forearms, over my biceps and the thin, fossil-gray fabric of the crew-neck sweater I’m wearing. Her fingers glide either side my neck, and she makes it no farther before I smash down that space I’d given her and dip my head close, finding her lips with mine.

  I’m not big on public displays of affection, but I’d like to see someone try and keep me off Brooke. Just being near her dulls that silence in my head, tempers that low-frequency vibrating energy. Some people can’t hear or think for the noise, but I have the opposite problem. Anytime I’m not on the ice or in a class I’m thinking about shit no one wants to think about.

  But not with Brooke.

  She’s calming in ways I’ve never really known since moving away from home, my pops the only one who settled me rather than irritate me. I’m seeking her out before there’s time to realize that’s what I’m doing, and I’ve stopped noticing anyone but her. This fast and this soon, I’ve got myself a little problem. Girls come to me, that’s just how it goes and how it’s been going. But if I’m calling Brooke, it’s because I’m trying to see her.

  Brooke’s lips tear from mine, her eyes flying open.

  “Got you guys some drinks.” The bartender eyes Brooke with a shrewd smile. “Thought you needed the cooling off.”

  “Thanks, Lisa.” Brooke turns and grabs two glasses, handing one to me.

  When we’re sitting at the round corner booth in the least VIP section I’ve ever been in—because VIP in Champ’s just means: ‘roped-off area’—I ask Brooke if she wants my drink, since I’m not straying from water.

  “No.” Taking the glass anyway, she leans across the table. “Kimberly, this one’s yours.”

  Kimberly’s eyes light up like fireworks, sparing me the briefest of glances before she snatches the full glass and starts making light work of what’s inside it. She deserves the hangover that’s coming tomorrow. And no, she won’t be using it as an excuse to weasel out of going home.

  Brooke’s drinks go down like soda and not double measures of vodka, and she’s buzzed in no time. It might be the quickest I’ve ever seen anyone get wasted. She’s being pulled in every direction, the center of the party. Clingier than Brooke’s shadow, Kimberly’s draped all over her.

  An alcohol abuser for at least four years now, only reason’s Kimberly’s not as buzzed as Brooke is through her higher tolerance, and I swear Brooke loses an inch more of body fat every time I see her. I wonder if she’s eaten anything today or her calorie intake’s from vodka alone.

  “Did you ask her?” West asks from beside me.

  “I haven’t gotten round to it,” I say, my eyes on Brooke. “I will, though.”

  After some intransigent badgering, Brooke admits defeat and goes with Kimberly to the crowded dancefloor. My gaze coasts over the other faces lining the perimeter of the bar, over the booths and tables.

  “Hello.” Brooke’s friend, Madison, roadblocks me, sidling up out of nowhere. I lift my eyes from her bare midriff to her face. “Would you like to fill in one of these cards and join Champ’s VIP club?”

  She means rope club.

  “What’s in it for us?” West leans around me to ask.

  Maddie spaces out, her gaze blanking on West for a long second. “I’ll get you a free drink?”

  “I’m drinking water,” West says. “So you’re gonna have to do better than that if you want me in your cult.”

  “Um…” Maddie bites on her lower lip, her expression contemplative. “Could you just fill in a card each? Put a wrong digit or something in your email address, I don’t care.”

  “What’s with the outfit?” I ask Maddie as she doles out the information cards.

  She grumbles, pulling a spare pen from the side of her cleavage in her black and orange cheerleader top. “Another one of Preston’s bright ideas. We get to dress up now on the weekends in whatever he tells us to. This weekend’s theme is team spirit. Dick,” she grouses under her breath. “Next week it’ll probably be wet T-shirts.”

  “I know where I’ll be on Saturday.” West arches his brow, slipping me a sly look while Madison’s head’s turned the other way. “Find out if Brooke’s working that shift and I’ll bring an extra bucket of water.”

  Noticing Madison’s presence, Brooke rushes off the makeshift dancefloor that’s really just an unseated section of flooring, and I divide my attention between her and Kimberly. Mostly, though, the guy who’s joined her. It’s overcrowded, and they’re both blotted from my line of sight, dancing bodies restricting my view.

  Madison and Brooke hug like two long-lost relatives, and I fill in the card in front of me, rushing through it just to get rid of it.

  “Done.’ I hold the card up for Madison, then grab West’s to give to her.

  “Thank. You.” She plucks them both from my fingers. “I’ll come over once I get off work if you’re still here,” she says to Brooke, and then moves onto the next booth.

  There’s a second girl wearing the cheerleader costume, badgering people in the same fashion as Madison. My mind wanders to Brooke, and what exactly she’ll be wearing next weekend, and I know before it’s here, I’ll be stopping by to see for myself.

  “Who’s the guy in the pinstripe shirt?” I ask Brooke. She sits next to me in the booth, her movements sloppy and uncoordinated from the alcohol.

  She looks at me, her confusion magnified ten-fold because she’s so fucking drunk. “What guy?”

  “With Kimberly.”

  Brooke’s head moves like she’s dodging bullets. “Oh. Him.” She picks up the drink in front of her, and I quickly take it off her and put it back where it was.

  “That’s not yours, B.”

  “Don’t I have a drink?” She scans the table, blinking heavily.

  West shuffles out from the other end of the booth since everyone that was sitting there has shifted to the ‘dancefloor’. Two of Brooke’s girlfriends whose names have completely slipped my mind.

  “I’ll get you a drink, Brooke. I gotta take a slash anyway. What do you want?”

  Brooke doesn’t miss a beat. “Vodka and Diet coke.”

  “So who is he?” I ask again. The crowd’s parted just enough for me to see Kimberly put her hand on his arm. He’s bending down close, saying something in her ear. His hand goes to her waist, and even though I’d put him in his early to mid-twenties, he’s too old for Kimberly.

  Brooke mutters something below the music that I miss, but she’s looking where I am.

  ‘Brooke?”

  “That’s Preston, my manager.” Brooke glances back at me. “Should I go get her?”

  Yes. “No.” I sigh. “Leave her for now.”

  “Oohh, look who it is.” The whites of Brooke’s teeth show through her stretched smile, and she pins the hair on her shoulder between two fingers, pushing it onto her back. Then she drops her voice and says with less of a smile, “She’s coming over here.”

  Jen stops at our booth, her gaze shifting from Brooke to me. “Can I get a ride home with you? Becca’s bailed early and left me here.”

  “That’s not nice,” Brooke slurs.

  Jen’s carefree look slips for a beat as she stares at Brooke.

  “Sure,” I say, because it’s not like I can say no.

  West comes back with Brook
e’s drink, his eyes coasting right over Jen like he doesn’t see her.

  “It’s just Coke,” he says to me once he’s sitting in the booth. “Think she’s had enough of the hard stuff.”

  “Hi, West,” Jen says, her smile strained.

  “Jen,” he says flatly. That’s all the response she gets. He’s not her biggest fan and he doesn’t pretend to be.

  Kimberly’s arrival lifts the stagnant atmosphere for all of two seconds.

  “Excuse me.” She ushers Jen into the booth with both hands, and Jen complies, moving over to West’s side. “Who are you?” Kimberly rudely asks. I can’t take her anywhere. Nobody can.

  Jen flashes her a belittling look. “Jennifer.”

  “What did Preston want?” Brooke asks, cutting through the tension.

  “To take me on a date,” Kimberly says with a haughty grin.

  Brooke’s quick with a response, her eyebrows drawn in revulsion. “Oh, God. That’s disgusting.”

  I level Kimberly with a discreet look of disapproval. “I hope you told him no.”

  “Well, gosh, Roman. Now you’ve gone and made me regret not spreading my legs right there on the dancefloor.” Kimberly scoffs, shooting me a chilly look. “Thank God I gave him my number so we can have phone sex while I’m in Berlin.”

  Brooke groans. “Please don’t fight. Tonight’s going so well.”

  “He started it.” I ignore the harsh look Kimberly knifes me with. “Fucking ruins everything.”

  Brooke downs her drink, unaware it’s just soda. “Okay. We should probably go now.”

  No one argues. In the truck, though, Kimberly still can’t let it go.

  “You’re so fucking superior. Always acting like you’re more important than me, more important than everyone. Like the world should bow at your feet just because you were born.” She’s in the backseat, sandwiched between Brooke and West. Jen jumped into the front seat when she heard the locks opening. “Why do you always expect the worst from me?” Kimberly’s arms are folded securely over her stomach like a petulant kid.

  “Because I’m still waiting for the best.”

  “Don’t push it,” West draws out in a low tone, his warning meant for me.

  I drop it, and so does Kimberly, her furious gaze clashing with mine in the rearview mirror every time I glance into it.

  My headlights sweep through the pitch-black, the road bordered on each side with thick Spruce. My student village is up on the right, and Jen turns to me and says, “You can take Brooke home first. I don’t mind the extra journey.”

  She might not, but I do. And I had no intention of dropping Brooke off at her place.

  “Brooke.” I dart a look over my shoulder, not taking my eyes off the road for too long. “Where are you staying tonight?”

  “With me?” Kimberly answers, her face as sour as her tone. “Or am I fucking invisible now?”

  I fucking wish. “Shut up, Kimberly. I’m not talking to you.”

  It’s hard to miss the stony exterior over Jen’s eyes.

  “We’re taking Kimberly home in the morning, so I should stay with her. I’m kinda a tiny bit drunk.” Brooke hiccups, solidifying her statement.

  “Perfect.” Jen’s reaction’s knee-jerk, that stoniness softening into a blithe smile.

  Steph’s standing on the wraparound porch as I’m pulling into the driveway to park in front of the garage. The day’s crisp, the blue sky bright and cloudless in Northern New Hampshire. My aunt and uncle’s two-story brick house with a renovated attic is heaped in gleaming, white snow. The driveway’s been shoveled and the path leading up to the porch.

  Kimberly’s sulking as she pushes open the truck door with her foot, dragging two of her bags behind her. I shut off the engine, get out, and help her down.

  “Thank you,” she says grumpily.

  I help Brooke down from the front seat, then grab Kimberly’s suitcase. There’s a weirdness being back here, even though I come home every Christmas and during the summer, so it hasn’t been that long.

  Steph drags Kimberly into a crushing hug, Kimberly reluctantly dropping her bags on the porch floorboards and raising her arms to return the hug.

  “I made dinner, so I hope you’re all hungry.” Steph picks up Kimberly’s bags, and Kimberly waltzes inside without a backward glance.

  Brooke’s expression’s frozen on her face. She rearranges her features into a smile before I can mention it, though.

  “Come in, come in,” Steph ushers Brooke. “Lovely to see you again. With pink hair this time.”

  Brooke smiles and walks into the foyer. “Yeah. You, too.” She tips her face up to the second-level hallway balcony, absorbing her surroundings. “Your house is beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Feels like we’ve been working on it since we moved in sixteen years ago.” Steph closes the door, then reaches up and kisses me on the cheek. “I was so happy when Roman said you were both coming today. I feel so guilty around the holidays when we don’t get out to his games. Next year, I promise, sweetie,” she says to me.

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t expect you there when you’ve got the whole family here. We scraped by on a win. You didn’t miss anything.”

  “I saw.” Steph shows Brooke into the living room. “We watched both games. Boy that goalie was tough on you guys.”

  Wasn’t he just?

  “Brooke, are you cool here while I use the bathroom?” My bladder’s near bursting. I’ve been holding it for the last fifteen miles.

  Steph shoots me a withering look. “I’m not serving her for dinner, Roman. She’ll be just fine with me.”

  I raise an eyebrow, regarding Brooke with a mixture of mild curiosity and amusement. “I dunno. She tastes pretty good to me.”

  Silence works its way into the room, Brooke’s parted lips clamp shut, and Steph says, “Go to the bathroom, Roman.”

  On a backward glance, I smile at Brooke. I book it upstairs and do my business in the bathroom, washing up when I’m finished. Wondering where Kimberly’s vanished to the moment we got here, I make my way along the balcony landing and to the closed bedroom door that’s hers.

  I tap my knuckles against the white wood. No response, so I call out, “Can I come in? If you don’t answer me, I will anyway. Just warning you.”

  “Do what you want.” Kimberly’s stroppy tone floats distantly from the other side. “You usually do. Why change the habit of a lifetime now?”

  I wrap my hand around the doorknob, twist it, and push the door slowly open.

  Kimberly’s sitting in her desk chair, one foot on the white leather seat, her chin propped on her knee. “What can I help you with now, Roman? You got me back here, what’s left?” She’s staring out the window, her eyes dull and lifeless in the fading sunlight. The string lights hanging from the rail of her sheer white curtains have been turned on.

  “You think I wanted rid of you? That’s it?” I sit on the end of her bed. Integrated wardrobes and shelving surround the gray velvet headboard, Steph and Paul cutting no corners when it came to giving us the nicest, most comfortable bedrooms they could. “You’re wrong.”

  “We can’t all be right. Or perfect, like you.” The spite riding on her voice has lost every drop of its effect, she uses it so often. “Why are you even in here? Your wildest dreams have come true—I’m gone. Hurry on back to Maine now and all your friends. Don’t let me keep you.”

  “I will,” I say, holding my temper in check and putting on my closest presentation of a man in control. “As soon as you tell me why you left here in the first place. I’m not your enemy, Kimberly.”

  Her gaze shifts from the window to me, imperceptibly narrowing with dislike. “Aren’t I?”

  “Do we always have to do things the melodramatic way?” I can’t help it. She’s bringing out the fucking worst in me.

  Surprisingly, I get an answer, Kimberly’s gaze almost challenging. “Are you sure you want to know? Can’t take it back once it’s out there.”

 
I rest my forearms on my thighs and thread my fingers. “Try me.”

  With a noisy huff, Kimberly pins her gaze back to the window, bringing up her other leg so both knees are under her chin. “I was sleeping with someone older than me. Steph flipped, and then so did I. End of.”

  I’m still hearing it well after Kimberly’s finished speaking.

  “How much older?”

  “He’s thirty-five. Actually”—she reaches out to tap the button on her phone lying on the desk—“he was thirty-six yesterday.” She isn’t laughing, but her airy way of delivering the news is careless and adolescent. Like she’s getting a fucking kick out of causing so much trouble and having everyone running around after her while she winds us in like puppets.

  She turns to look at me after an unmeasured length of time. I look blankly back at her.

  “Aren’t you going to say something now? Tell me how slutty I am or demand his address so you can go beat his ass for deflowering your wild little sister? Or are you waiting for me to tell you how he was? How many times we did it? Don’t you wanna know if he’s married, Roman? Got kids? Whose house we did it in?”

  Without a word, my threaded fingers clenching into a painful fist, I stand from the bed and stalk to the door. It closes harder than I’d intended, and I drag my hand down my mouth as I jog down the stairs, exhaling through my nose like I can expel the anger bubbling in my chest.

  Brooke’s in the living room, sitting on the couch with a glass of lemonade. “Have you been with Kimberly?” she asks, brows furrowing.

  We exchange a long look. Brooke sighs, stands up, and pushes her glass of lemonade into my hand.

  “Brooke—” Steph rounds the corner from the dining room into the living room, the rest of whatever she was about to say hanging in midair as Brooke rushes up the stairs. “Did something happen?” Steph runs a dish towel through her hands, an uneasy look in her eyes.

  “No,” I say, dodging an argument that will suck the whole family into it. “Is Jace around?”

  “He’s at the rink with his dad. You could drive over there?”